Harry Potter and the Florinese Dream
by Lady Norbert
Summary: A crazy crossover of Harry Potter and The Princess Bride, featuring Ron as Westley, Hermione as Buttercup, Harry as Inigo, and Draco as Humperdinck. Special guest appearances by Hagrid as Fezzik and Dumbledore as the narrator.
1. Chapter One: The Bride

**A/N: **Greetings, members of the illustrious fandom(s)! I wrote this ages ago - it was actually one of my first forays into HP fanfic. I recently re-read a bunch of my own fic and was annoyed to see that the formatting in this one was out of whack in a lot of places. So I downloaded all the chapters, tidied them up, and re-uploaded them. Is it not shiny?

Initially, I suppose, this was supposed to have taken place in H/R/H's fifth year at school, but of course we now know that's not the case. I had to change a couple of slight details to make it fit with the newer canon, but otherwise, it doesn't have any particular time reference. Just sit back and enjoy the gooey, mushy absurdity of it all!

**Obligatory disclaimers:** Harry Potter and all related characters and references are the exclusive property of J. K. Rowling (or as my best friend and I call her, "our Queen"). Westley, Buttercup, and all related characters and references are the property of William Goldman (who wrote the book under the pseudonym of S. Morgenstern, so don't go griping about my assigning the rights to the wrong guy; there **is no Morgenstern,** Bill made him up, it was a terrible letdown and all that).

Finally, this story is dedicated after-the-fact to all of my wonderful friends in both fandoms.

* * *

It was Christmastime at Hogwarts, and Harry supposed the Great Hall was filled with the smell of a dozen roast turkeys with all the trimmings. He didn't actually know for sure, however, because he wasn't there. He and Ron were staying with Hermione and her parents over their vacation, and since Mr. and Mrs. Granger were at their dental office during most of the day, they pretty much had the run of the house. Ron was fascinated by such gadgetry as the microwave, television, and VCR, and after he pleaded for a good fifteen minutes Hermione relented and made a batch of microwave popcorn so he could watch.

"Let's show Ron a movie on your VCR," Harry proposed.

"A what?" asked Ron, interested.

"A movie. You know how people move in wizard photographs, but not in Muggle photos? Well, a movie is like a lot of Muggle pictures strung together and run by so fast that the people in them seem to move, and it tells a story," Hermione explained.

Harry could see that Ron was a little puzzled by this, but he shrugged it off and said, "Okay," then filled his mouth with popcorn. Hermione studied the rack of videos against one wall of the living room.

"How about this one?" she asked, making a selection. "It's called _The Princess Bride,_ I haven't seen it in ages." Neither of the boys objected, so she slid the black tape into the VCR and pressed the play button.

It took a little while for Harry and Ron to get into the movie, but before long they were absorbed in the story, and cheered loudly during the swordfight scenes. Hermione settled back on her couch, thoroughly amused at their reactions, and continued to watch the movie through slowly drooping eyelids.

* * *

"_The Princess Bride,_ by S. Morgenstern, chapter one," intoned the voice of Albus Dumbledore. Hermione's eyes popped open in surprise. She was in her dormitory bed at Hogwarts, and the headmaster was sitting beside her, reading from the book.

"Professor, what's going on?" she asked, perplexed.

"Not to worry, Miss Granger. We're just in the middle of another fanfic dream sequence. Let's relax and enjoy ourselves, shall we?" Dumbledore continued with the story. "Buttercup was raised on a small farm in the country of Florin. Her favorite pasttimes were riding her horse and tormenting the farm boy who worked there. His name was Westley, but she never called him that..."

* * *

Hermione galloped across the fields, her brown hair flying as she slowed her horse to a canter, then a trot. He stopped and she dismounted, leading him into his stable stall and removing his saddle. Outside the stable, a tall young man with red hair was doing farm chores.

"Farm Boy," she addressed him, "polish my horse's saddle. I want to see my face shining in it by morning."

"As you wish," he replied. She flounced off to the house.

"'As you wish' was all he ever said," Dumbledore said in a voice-over. The scene changed abruptly, and Herm- uh, Buttercup came out of the house with two large buckets, which she carried to where the farm boy was chopping wood.

"Farm Boy, fill these with water." She set them down and then stopped, suddenly, for the expression with which he regarded her was filled with an emotion she had never noticed before. "Please," she added.

"As you wish," he said.

"That day," said Dumbledore, "she was amazed to discover that when he was saying 'As you wish,' what he meant was 'I love you.'" She walked back to the house, glancing over her shoulder as she did. He was still watching her.

In the kitchen, she worked to make them supper, and he came in with an armload of firewood. She watched him surreptitiously as he dropped it near the door. "Even more amazing," Dumbledore went on, "was the day she realized she truly loved him back." He turned to go back outside.

"Farm Boy!" she called, and he turned, waiting for her orders. She glanced around, her eyes falling on a pitcher hanging on a peg not two feet in front of her. "Fetch me that pitcher?" she asked.

He stepped toward her, and with deliberate slowness he slid the pitcher off its peg and placed it gently in her hands.

"As you wish," he whispered. She smiled.

Next thing she knew, they were standing in the field at sunset, kissing.

"Westley had no money for marriage," Dumbledore narrated, "so he packed his few belongings and set out to make his fortune in a country across the sea. It was a very emotional time for Buttercup." It certainly was, as they tearfully embraced in the same field, only now it was the middle of the afternoon.

"I fear I'll never see you again," she said.

"Of course you will," Westley replied softly, breathing in the scent of her.

"But what if something happens to you?"

* * *

"Hold it," said Hermione in the bed. Dumbledore stopped reading and looked at her. "Is this just the way the dream is going to go? A verbatim copy of the script of _The Princess Bride,_ but with me as Buttercup and Ron as Westley?" She reddened at that notion.

"Well, what would you prefer?" he asked.

"I don't know," she said thoughtfully. "I love this story, but it's not quite right to just have it be exactly the same. It needs to be different."

"Well, let's see where we can make it different. Now," said Dumbledore, "Westley didn't reach his destination. His ship was attacked by the Dread Pirate...Weasley, who never left captives alive. Buttercup learned of his murder, locked herself in her room for several days, and vowed never to love again."

"Okay, that's a LITTLE different," she said grudgingly.

"Would it help, maybe, if I stopped doing the voice-overs during the action?" he offered. She considered this.

"Yeah, it might."

* * *

It was five years after Westley's disappearance. There was a great mob of people assembled outside the royal castle in Florin City. It seemed like the entire country had turned out to learn the identity of Prince Humperdinck's bride-to-be. Prince Humperdinck, the son of the aging Queen and senile old King, pretty much ran their country, was the greatest hunter in the world, and was generally not someone you wanted to mess with.

He appeared on the balcony then, his silver-blond hair shining in the sun. ("Draco Malfoy has a cameo in my dream?" thought Hermione, but said nothing.) "My people," he proclaimed in stentorian tones, "a month from now, our country will have its five hundredth anniversary. On that sundown, I shall marry a lady who was once a commoner like yourselves. But, perhaps, you will not find her common now. Would you like to meet her?"

The assembled throng cheered affirmatively.

"My people...the Princess Buttercup!" He gestured down to where a large carpet had been rolled out of a first-story door, and Buttercup strode out to greet the public. She was gowned in peach satin, the billowing sleeves flowing behind her like angel wings, and her bushy brown hair was pulled back under a juliet cap. Her face was impassive, completely without emotion, as she surveyed the kneeling crowd and her bridegroom. She felt consumed by her emptiness, and while the laws of Florin allowed Humperdinck to marry anyone he chose, she did not love him.

She still loved riding, though, and that afternoon she saddled her horse and rode off through the trees, trying not to think about much of anything. This was difficult for her, as she was an unusually clever girl. Granted, in the years during which she'd been trained to become a proper princess, her royal tutors had done their best to quash that particular aspect of her personality; Prince Humperdinck, though by no means as dumb as the thick-skulled dimwits he used for personal bodyguards, couldn't really match her in the brains department. Naturally, he wasn't too keen on having a wife who could outperform him mentally, so Buttercup's education was severely cut back and she was pretty much restricted to only basic spells. Sometimes she managed to sneak into the castle library at odd hours, and do some studying on her own, but the closer she came to her wedding day, the less personal time she had for academic pursuits. Horseback riding was her only true escape; as it didn't show up the Prince in any way, he allowed her to continue the riding schedule she had followed for many years prior to their meeting. So every afternoon, weather permitting or not, she went to the stables and galloped away on her only true friend.

She'd been riding for perhaps two hours when she reined her horse in sharply, for on the path before her was an odd-looking trio of men. The first was an elegantly dressed man with pale golden hair and a cool demeanor; Buttercup couldn't help thinking that he bore an interesting resemblance to her betrothed. The second man was tall and very thin, with unruly black hair, bright green eyes, and a curious lightning-shaped scar that streaked across his forehead. The third man was enormous, more than twice the size of the other two, with lots of tangled bushy black hair and beard.

"A word, my lady?" said the first. "We are but poor, lost circus performers. Is there a village nearby?"

"There is nothing nearby. Not for miles," she replied.

"Excellent! That means there will be no one to hear you scream." At these words the giant man approached her, touched a place on the back of her neck, and she lapsed into unconsciousness.


	2. Chapter Two: The Groom

Buttercup regained slight consciousness to find herself in the arms of the fuzzy-bearded giant. She could hear the three men discussing their plans, as the one who had spoken in the woods - the leader, presumably - explained things to the other two.

The leader was ripping cloth of the uniform of an army officer of Guilder. He tucked it under her horse's saddle and set the beast off at a gallop.

"Who's Guilder?" asked the giant.

"The country across the sea. The sworn enemy of Florin." The giant placed Buttercup's barely conscious body into a boat, where the group leader joined him. The third man was still on the shore, untying the boat from the dock.

The leader continued his explanation. "Once the horse reaches the castle, the fabric will make the Prince suspect that the Guilderians have abducted his love. When he finds her body dead on the Guilder frontier, his suspicions will be totally confirmed."

"You never said anything about killing anyone," objected the giant.

"Yes, well, it happens," snapped the leader. "We're being paid well for it, too. She's not a real Princess, she's not even a real witch, so what do you care?"

The giant shook his head. "I just don't think it's right, killing an innocent girl."

"I agree with Fezzik," said the third man, jumping into the boat.

"That's the last I want to hear about either of you thinking!" roared the leader. "You work for _me,_ and don't forget it. I will do the actual killing, neither of you have the nerve."

So they set sail. Buttercup regained full consciousness after some time, and learned that her captors were Vizzini the Sicilian, Fezzik the giant Turk, and Inigo the Spaniard. Vizzini, clearly, was the boss; the other two appeared to be good friends and even behaved kindly toward her, which she found both comforting and unsettling.

The moon rose, casting her rays across Florin Channel. The boat slipped silently through the water, and Inigo kept looking back over his shoulder.

"Why do you keep doing that?" asked Vizzini.

"I'm making sure nobody's following us."

"That would be inconceivable. Nobody in Guilder knows what we've done, and nobody in Florin could have gotten here so fast." He smiled smugly at the Princess. Inigo continued to look back.

"Are you _sure_ nobody could be following us?" he asked.

"As I told you before, it would be totally, completely, and in all other ways inconceivable," Vizzini assured him. "But just for the sake of argument, why do you ask?"

"No reason. It's just that suddenly I happened to look back and something's there."

"What?" Vizzini jumped up and joined Inigo at the prow of the ship. There, gleaming in the moonlight, was another ship some distance behind them, with a black-robed figure at the helm.

"Probably some local fisherman, out for a pleasure cruise...at night...through eel-infested waters," he concluded. There was a sudden splash, and the three kidnappers stared into the waters of the channel, where their royal prisoner was making a desperate bid for freedom.

"Go in after her!" cried Vizzini, but neither he nor the other two could swim. They watched as she swam away from the ship, then paused, treading water, as an eerie high-pitched wail pierced the night.

"Do you know what that sound is, Highness?" Vizzini called. "Those are the shrieking eels! If you don't believe me, just wait...they always grow louder when they're about to feed on human flesh!"

Dark figures swirled around Buttercup in the water, and she gasped in horror.

"If you come back now," Vizzini continued, "I promise, your death will be swift and painless. One speedy little Killing Curse and it'll all be over in a heartbeat. I doubt you'll get such an offer from the eels."

Buttercup turned and watched in terror as one of the eels charged toward her, mouth open wide, ready to snap its jaws around her. She was about to scream with panic...death was imminent...

* * *

"She does not get eaten by the eels at this time," Dumbledore said abruptly. Hermione looked at him, puzzled.

"I know that."

"I know you know that, but I'm supposed to say it," he said with good humor. He took this chance to clear his throat and take a sip of hot chocolate, which had been graciously provided by the fanfic writer.

* * *

Just before the eel could make a meal of Buttercup, Inigo managed to steer the ship close enough to her that Fezzik could lean over the side and whack the eel on the head with a club. He then hoisted the Princess out of the water and back into the boat, where Vizzini irritably tied her wrists together to prevent future escape attempts.

The sun arose, and Inigo continued to watch the progress of the ship behind him. "I think he's getting closer," he observed.

"Whoever he is, he's too late! See?" cried Vizzini, pointing. "The Cliffs of Insanity!" And there they were, rising straight up into the sky, a sheer rock face at least a thousand feet high that no one in the history of Florin had ever climbed.

But climb they did. A rope had been put there for that very purpose. Inigo fastened a leather harness around Fezzik, with which he secured Buttercup to the big man's side, then tied himself on as well. Vizzini jumped up onto the giant's shoulders, and with every ounce of strength in his enormous body, Fezzik began to climb the rope.

Below them, the black-robed, black-masked mystery figure jumped onto the rope and began to climb after them.

"Faster!" roared Vizzini.

"I thought I _was_ going faster," Fezzik said plaintively.

He pulled and climbed and gripped and pushed his body to the limit, and before much longer, they were at the top. Inigo unbound Buttercup and dropped her gently to the ground, where she lay gasping with relief at having survived the climb. Vizzini whipped out a knife and began to saw through the rope until at last it snapped, and hurtled over the side of the cliff. Pleased with himself, Vizzini went to the cliff's edge, where Inigo and Fezzik were staring down in amazement.

Several feet below them, the wizard in black clung precariously to the side of the cliff. He looked up at them, his expression inscrutable.

"He didn't fall? Inconceivable!" said Vizzini peevishly.

"You keep using that word," said Inigo. "I'm starting to think it doesn't mean what you think it means." They looked down again, where the man in black began to find hand- and footholds in the sheer rock face.

"Look at that. He's climbing!" said Inigo.

"You! Carry her," Vizzini told Fezzik. To Inigo he said, "Catch up with us when he's dead. If he falls, fine; if not, the wand."

Fezzik picked up the Princess, then patted Inigo gently on the shoulder with his giant hand. "You be careful, then," he told his friend. "People in masks canna' be trusted." He followed Vizzini toward Guilder.

Inigo made a few practice moves with his wand. It responded to his every command, pulsing in his hand like a living thing. Finally his curiosity got the better of him and he looked over the cliff edge to where the man in black was still climbing.

"Hello there!" he said, cheerfully. "Slow going?"

"I don't mean to be rude," replied the wizard in black, "but this is not as easy as it looks, so I'd appreciate it if you didn't distract me."

"Sorry." Inigo stepped away again, did a few more showy manuevers with his wand, then came back. "I don't suppose you could speed things up?"

"If you're in such a hurry," snapped the climber, "you could lower a rope or a tree branch or find something _useful_ to do."

"I could do that," Inigo admitted. "In fact, I've got a piece of rope right here. But I didn't think you would accept my help, since I'm only waiting around to kill you."

"That does put a damper on our relationship," acknowledged the WIB, who from here on in will be identified by that acronym in order to save the fanfic writer a little bit of exertion.

"But," Inigo said earnestly, "I promise I will not kill you until you reach the top."

"I can't tell you how comforting that is," replied the WIB dryly. "You're just going to have to wait."

"I hate waiting," mused Inigo. "Isn't there any way you trust me?"

"Nothing comes to mind."

Inigo's face became very serious. "I swear on the soul of my father, James Montoya," he said quietly. "You will reach the top alive."

The WIB studied him. "Throw me the rope."

Inigo did, and in a matter of seconds the WIB stood beside him on the cliff. He began to pull his wand from its sheath, ready to duel, but Inigo stopped him. "We'll wait until you're ready."

"Thank you." The WIB sat down and removed some rocks that had become lodged in his boots, breathing heavily.

Inigo watched him. "I don't mean to pry," he said, "but you don't by any chance have red eyes behind that mask?"

The WIB looked at him curiously. "Do you always begin conversations this way?"

"My father was slaughtered by a wizard with red eyes."

Frowning slightly at this revelation, the WIB shook his head. "They're blue."

Inigo nodded; he had expected as much. "He was a great wand maker, my father," he said nostalgically. "When the red-eyed wizard appeared and requested a special wand, my father took the job. He slaved a year before he was done." He held out his wand, a smooth branch of holly wood, which the WIB took and inspected admiringly.

"I've never seen its equal," he remarked, handing it back. Inigo sheathed it once more.

"The red-eyed wizard returned and demanded it - but at one-tenth his promised price. My father refused. Without a word, the red-eyed wizard raised his old wand and leveled a deadly spell at my father, killing him instantly. I loved my father, so naturally I challenged his murderer to a duel. The red-eyed wizard left me alive...but he gave me this." Inigo pulled the hair back from his forehead, revealing a jagged lightning-shaped scar.

"How old were you?" asked the WIB.

"I was eleven years old." Inigo smiled wistfully. "When I was strong enough, I dedicated my life to the study of dueling, so that the next time we meet, I will not fail again. I will go up to the red-eyed wizard and say, 'Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die.'"

"You've done nothing but study dueling?" asked the WIB, amazed. "Eh...more pursue than study, lately," admitted Inigo. "You see," he continued, sitting down beside his adversary, "I can't find the git. It's been a very long time now and I'm starting to get rather irritated with him. I'm just working for Vizzini to pay the bills. It's surprising, but you can't make much money in the revenge business."

"You probably could if you branched out," suggested the WIB. "You know, going after revenge for other people. I'm sure there are some who would pay a lot of money for that."

Inigo looked thoughtful. "I guess you could say that's what we do, the three of us. It's not fun, I'll tell you that. Fezzik's a real mate, but Vizzini rubs me the wrong way. I'd much rather have a best friend who's less interested in murder-for-hire and more interested in, say, games you can play on broomstick. Maybe after I've finally avenged my father, things will improve."

"Well," said the WIB, standing up, "I certainly hope you get the chance someday."

"You're ready then?"

"Whether I am or not, you've been more than fair."

"You seem a decent fellow," said Inigo regretfully. "I hate to kill you."

"You seem a decent fellow," said the WIB. "I hate to die."

Inigo nodded. "Begin."

They each held their wands in readiness, circling each other. Neither seemed prepared to make the first move...then suddenly, the cliff was alive with the duel. It was like an exquisite dance between the two combatants, the magic flying through the air as they each dodged the spells issued by the other.

It was an evenly matched duel, which surprised Inigo. He had trained for many years in the art of dueling, so that he would be prepared to avenge his father when the time came. To be facing off with someone whose skill was so parallel to his own was a refreshing change of pace, a glorious challenge. He thought once he held the upper hand, but it quickly switched to the WIB's advantage, then back again, then back once more. For a split second, his concentration slipped.

"_Expelliarmus!_" cried his adversary. The beloved wand of his father flew from Inigo's hand. He was beaten. He was done. Distraught, he dropped to his knees.

"Kill me quickly," he begged.

"Don't be stupid!" said the WIB. "I'd sooner destroy a brand-new Firebolt than an artist like yourself. However...since I can't have you following me either..._petrificus totalus_." Inigo's body siezed up in a full-body bind, and the WIB placed his wand carefully on the ground not too far away. Inigo would be able to reclaim it when the spell wore off.

"Please understand," he added, "I hold you in the highest respect." With that, he took off, following the trail left by the others.

* * *

"Inconceivable!" cried Vizzini when he saw the WIB approaching from a distance. He turned to Fezzik. "Give her to me!"

The giant obediently set Buttercup down, and Vizzini grabbed the rope that still bound her wrists. "Catch up with us quickly!" he shouted, and began to walk away.

"What do I do, then?" Fezzik asked, perplexed.

"Finish him. Finish him. _Your_ way." "Oh, righ'...my way...ta, Vizzini." Fezzik frowned. "Er...which way's my way?"

Vizzini sighed, exasperated. "Pick up one of those rocks," he ordered, pointing. "Get behind that boulder. In a few minutes, the wizard in black will come running around the bend. The moment his head is in view, _hit it with the rock_!" He turned and marched the Princess down the path. Fezzik looked distressed.

"My way's not very fair an' all."

The WIB made his way cautiously along the path, listening intently. Two inches from his nose, a rock the size of his head sailed through the air and smashed against a boulder. He pulled out his wand and looked in the direction from which the rock had come; the giant stepped into view.

"I did that on purpose," he said. "I didn' have ter miss."

"I believe you," said the WIB. "So what happens now?"

"Well, near as I kin figger," said the giant pleasantly, "we're goin' ter figh' each other. Man ter man, no magic, no weapons. It's the only fair way."

"You mean...you'll put down your rock and I'll put down my wand and we'll try and kill each other like civilized people?"

"I could kill yer now," said Fezzik, holding up another rock.

The WIB slowly set down his wand. "Frankly," he said, "I think the odds are slightly in your favor at hand fighting."

As before, they danced around each other a bit. The WIB decided to go for it, and dashed in to slam against the giant's stomach. It didn't seem to faze him at all. He grappled for a moment, trying to get a firm grip, then gave up and backed away. "Look," he said angrily, "are you just fiddling around with me, or what?"

"I jes' want yer to feel yer doing well. I hate for people to die embarrassed an' all." Fezzik made a grab for the WIB then, but his opponent slipped away and rolled under the giant's legs. "Yer quick," he said admiringly.

"And a good thing too," said the WIB. He clambered up onto a boulder and leaped onto Fezzik's back, wrapping his arms around his adversary's throat. In a few minutes, the giant lay sprawled on the ground; the WIB had released his throat at the crucial instant, sending him into unconsciousness but not into death. He rolled the giant over and listened to his heartbeat to be sure.

"I do not envy you the headache you will have when you awake," he said. "But in the meantime, rest well...and dream of large women." He jumped to his feet, snatched up his wand, and once more picked up Vizzini's trail.

* * *

At the site of Inigo and the WIB's duel, Prince Humperdinck and a contingent of Florinese soldiers were surveying the area. Inigo had by this time recovered from the body bind, and he and his wand were gone. Count Rugen, the Prince's most trusted right-hand man, and the soldiers watched as Humperdinck traced out the footprints left by the fray.

"There was a mighty duel," he mused, his velvet dress tabard swirling around his legs as he followed the tracks. "They were both masters."

"Who won?" asked the Count, pretending to be interested. "How did it end?"

Humperdinck studied the scene. "The loser ran off alone...while the winner followed those footprints...toward Guilder."

"Shall we track them both?" ventured Count Rugen.

"The loser is nothing," Prince Humperdinck replied. "Only the Princess matters." His eyes flicked meaningfully toward the soldiers, whom he then addressed. "Clearly, this was all planned by warriors of Guilder! We must all be ready for whatever lies ahead." He climbed back into the saddle of his white horse.

"Could this be a trap?" wondered the Count.

"I always think everything could be a trap," said the Prince, "which is why I'm still alive."

* * *

Vizzini did not seem at all disturbed by the approach of the WIB. He was seated beside a rock, upon which rested a flagon of wine and two goblets. Next to him sat Buttercup, bound and blindfolded, and against her throat he held the blade of a long, thin knife.

"So," he proclaimed cheerfully, "it is down to you, and it is down to me."

The WIB slowed his pace but continued moving toward Vizzini.

"If you wish her dead, by all means, keep moving forward," said the Sicilian. The WIB immediately halted.

"Let me explain," he said.

"There's nothing for you to explain," said Vizzini. "You're trying to kidnap what I've rightfully stolen."

"Could we perhaps make a deal?" The WIB began to move again.

"There will be no deals," said Vizzini darkly, "and you're killing her." He pressed his knife more harshly against her skin, and she gasped. The WIB froze again.

"Well, if there can be no arrangement, then we are at an impasse," he said.

"I'm afraid so," Vizzini agreed. "I can't compete with you physically, and you're no match for my brains."

"You're that smart?"

"Let me put it to you this way. Have you heard of Merlin? Morgana? Aristotle?"

"Yes."

"Morons."

"Really!" The WIB smiled sardonically. "In that case, I challenge you to a battle of wits."

"For the Princess?"

The WIB nodded.

"To the death?"

The WIB nodded again.

"I accept!" cried Vizzini joyfully, and he put away his knife.

"Good! Then pour the wine." The WIB sat down opposite Vizzini, who poured the red wine into the two goblets. The MIB reached into his shirt and removed a small container, which he passed to Vizzini. "Open this and inhale, but do not touch."

Vizzini sniffed. "I smell nothing."

The WIB took back the container. "What you do not smell is called iocaine powder. It's odorless, colorless, tasteless, dissolves instantly in liquid, and is among the more deadly poisons." He took the goblets and turned away for a few minutes. Vizzini watched with interest.

After a bit, the WIB turned back and placed the goblets back on the rock that served as their table. He dropped the empty container and said, "All right, where is the poison? The battle of wits has begun. It ends when you decide and we both drink, and we find out who is right and who is dead."

"But it's so simple," Vizzini mused. "All I have to do is figure out whether you're the sort of man who would put the poison into his own goblet or his enemy's?"

"Could you think a little more quietly?" asked the WIB. "I kind of have a headache."

"Oh, fine," said Vizzini. He frowned. "What in the world can that be?" he cried, pointing past the WIB, who whirled and stared.

"What? Where?"

"I could have sworn I saw my house-elf in the trees. No matter." Vizzini was chuckling wickedly.

"What's so funny?"

"I'll tell you in a minute. First, let's drink - me from my goblet, you from yours." They lifted their glasses and drank deeply.

The WIB set his down, looking pleased. "You guessed wrong."

"You only _think_ I guessed wrong, that's what's so funny! I switched glasses when your back was turned! Haha, you fool!" Vizzini continued to cackle. "You fell victim to one of the classic blunders! The most famous is 'Never get romantic with a blast-ended skrewt,' but only slightly less well known is this: '_Never_ go in against a Sicilian when _death_ is on the line!'" He continued to laugh until he fell over, dead.

The WIB stepped past his body to Buttercup, and gently he pulled the blindfold from her eyes. She stared at him. "Who are you?" she asked.

"I am no one to be trifled with," he said, untying the bonds at her wrists and ankles. "That is all you ever need know."

She stared at Vizzini in bewilderment. "To think," she mused, "all that time it was _your_ cup that was poisoned."

"They were both poisoned," he said carelessly, helping her to stand. "I've spent the last few years building up an immunity to iocaine powder."

"That's pretty impressive," she admitted.

"Never mind that. Let's get moving."

* * *

Dumbledore paused here, to catch his breath, and Hermione settled herself more comfortably. "I never realized this was as long as it is," she remarked.

"Neither did I, Miss Granger, until I had to read it aloud."


	3. Chapter Three:The Festivities

"Someone has beaten a giant," remarked Humperdinck. He and his men had reached the spot where Fezzik and the MIB had fought, but Fezzik was gone. Instead, there was just a big hole in the ground where his body had lain.

"Thank you, Prince Obvious," muttered Count Rugen.

"What was that?"

"Nothing, nothing."

"There will be great suffering in Guilder if she dies!" The Prince turned, making his tabard swirl dramatically, and vaulted back onto his horse to follow the footprints.

* * *

The WIB dragged Buttercup at a ridiculously fast pace along the cliffs, dodging the boulders that dotted the landscape. He dropped her quite suddenly. "Get your breath, Highness," he told her.

She sagged against a rock, gasping. "If you'll release me," she wheezed, "whatever you ask for ransom, you'll get it, I promise you. Even if it's the answers to all the Potions tests you could ever have to take."

The WIB seemed to consider this seriously. "Really?"

She nodded. He mulled it over while she continued to inhale deeply.

"No," he said finally. "The Prince is a Slytherin, and I can't trust your word. You're probably a Slytherin too, or he wouldn't be your dearest love."

"I never said he was my dearest love!"

He stared at her thoughtfully. "You admit to me that you do not love your fiance?"

"He knows I do not love him."

"That's because you're not capable of love. You're a stinking Slytherin."

"I have loved more deeply than a killer like yourself could ever _dream_," she growled, trying to look into his eyes behind the mask. "And I am not a Slytherin!" She turned away as he raised a hand to strike her.

"That was a warning, Highness," he said coldly. "The next time I will not restrain myself, for where I come from there are penalties when a witch lies." He snatched her wrist and dragged her off once again.

* * *

The Slytherin Prince and his entourage had arrived at the scene where Vizzini's dead body still lay. Humperdinck picked up the empty container and sniffed. "Iocaine," he declared, "I'd bet my life on it!" He turned, pointed. "There are the Princess's footprints! She is alive, or was, an hour ago." His face turned broody. "If she is otherwise when I find her, I shall be very put out." He mounted his horse yet again and they set off.

* * *

"Rest, Highness," said the WIB, once again dropping his viselike grip on her wrist.

"I know who you are," she cried. "Your cruelty reveals everything. You're the Dread Pirate Weasley; admit it!"

He bowed. "With pride." He smiled at her maliciously. "What can I do for you?"

"You can die slowly, cut into a thousand pieces." Her tone was deadly cold.

"Tsk, tsk. Hardly complimentary, Your Highness. Why loose your venom on me?"

"You killed my love." A trace of sadness pierced the arctic tones of her fury.

"It's possible," he replied carelessly. "I kill a lot of people." He strolled away from her slowly, considering.

"I remember this love of yours, I think," he mused. "This would be what, five years ago?" He turned, saw her downcast face. "Does it bother you to hear?"

"Nothing you say can upset me."

"He died well; that should please you. No bribe attempts or blubbering. He simply said, 'Please. Please, I need to live.' I asked what was so important to him. 'True love,' he replied." She glanced up at him. The WIB stared down at her impassively.

"And then," he continued, "he spoke of a girl of surpassing intelligence and faithfulness; I can only assume he meant you. Oh, you should bless me for killing him before he found out what you really are."

She stood then, faced him. "And what am I?" she demanded.

"Faithfulness he talked of, madam, your enduring faithfulness! Now tell me truly, when you found out he was dead, did you get engaged to your prince that same hour? Or did you wait a whole week out of respect for the dead?"

"Don't you dare to mock my pain! _I died that day!_" The WIB looked at the white-hot anger and pain rising in her face. A strange expression flicked across his features, as though he truly believed her. Suddenly he turned and stared across the cliffs, where he could see Humperdinck and his men beginning to close in.

Buttercup was not watching them. "You can die too, for all I care," she whispered heatedly, and with every ounce of strength in her arms, she pushed him off the cliff.

He rolled and bounced down the steep incline, and as he did, she could hear him call out to her.

"As...you...wish."

Below her in the ravine, she saw him remove his mask. A headful of red hair gleamed in the pale light of the rising sun.

"Oh, my sweet Westley, what have I done?" she breathed. And down she went after him. She tried to run but quickly lost her footing and, like Westley, tumbled over and over until she lay sprawled at the bottom, near her beloved.

* * *

"They've disappeared!" exclaimed the Prince in surprise. "He must have seen us closing in, which would account for his panicking into error. Unless I am wrong, and I am never wrong, they are headed dead into the Forbidden Fire Swamp."

* * *

On the ravine floor, Westley crawled over to Buttercup and cradled her gently in his arms. "Can you move at all?" he asked anxiously.

"Move? You're _alive_...if you want, I can fly." They embraced tenderly, and he shook his head at her.

"I told you I would always come for you," he chided her softly. "Why didn't you wait?"

"Well...you were dead. That's usually a permanent sort of thing."

"Death cannot stop true love," he informed her. "All it can do is delay it for awhile."

"I will never doubt again," she promised.

"There will never be a need." He smiled and bent to kiss her.

* * *

"Hold it, hold it!" said Hermione, irritably.

"What is it?" asked Dumbledore.

"What exactly is this, anyway? Why is Ron playing Westley...and I'm Buttercup? And we're kissing...we've _never_ kissed, certainly not like that!"

"I don't know," Dumbledore replied with a shrug. "May I remind you, Miss Granger, that this is your dream? I'm just the narrator."

Hermione blushed. "I'm not sure I like where this is going."

"We can stop now, if you want," he offered.

"No...you can read a bit more...if you want."

* * *

"Okay," he said. "Buttercup and Westley raced along the ravine floor..."

They paused, briefly, to glance upward at the search party. "Your Slytherin fiance is too late," said Westley, triumphantly. "A few more steps, and we'll be safe in the Forbidden Fire Swamp!" They began to run once more.

"We'll never survive," said Buttercup.

"Nonsense. You're only saying that because no one ever has."

* * *

"It took nearly 24 hours," Dumbledore continued, "but at last they reached the other side of the swamp."

"Huh? Don't we get to hear about that?" asked Hermione, puzzled.

"Apparently not. This seems to be the abridged version."

* * *

It had been an interesting trip, in which Westley had explained to Buttercup that he had joined forces in his absence with the Dread Pirate Weasley, and had inherited the title. The Dread Pirate Weasley was the king of the sea, who sailed around on his ship, the _Gryffindor._ According to all the rumors (as was stated earlier), he never left captives alive. "Actually," Westley explained, "that's only a vicious rumor. Neither I nor any of the other Dread Pirate Weasleys ever killed anyone, it's not noble. What we do is take people captive and make them crew members for a couple years at a time, then turn them loose. They have to promise never to tell the truth, though. And everybody sings a really spirited song about piracy on their last night on the ship; it's called 'Weasley Is Our King.' But now that we're together, I'm going to retire and give the title to somebody else, and you and I will go live on that farm I promised you." All this he told her as they crossed the swamp together.

By the time they reached the far side of the Forbidden Fire Swamp, they were quite disheveled. Westley had a rather nasty gash on one shoulder from an unfortunate encounter with a S.O.U.S. (Spider of Unusual Size), and Buttercup had accidentally fallen into a large patch of snow sand and had to be rescued, but apart from that they were alive and together and they had done it. They looked at each other with profound relief, and were about to kiss again when Humperdinck rode into view. Westley stepped in front of Buttercup, his wand at the ready.

"Surrender." The Prince's voice was drawling and cold.

"You mean, you wish to surrender to me? Very well, I accept," said Westley.

"I give you full marks for bravery," said Humperdinck. "Don't make yourself a fool."

As Westley and Humperdinck bantered back and forth, Buttercup observed the soldiers moving in to surround them. Finally, she interrupted them. "Will you promise not to hurt him?"

"What?" This from both men.

"If we surrender, and I return with you to Slytherin Castle, will you promise not to hurt this wizard?"

"May I live a thousand years and never laugh at anyone again."

"He is a sailor with the pirate ship _Gryffindor,_" she added. "Promise to return him to his ship!"

"Yes, yes, whatever." He turned and whispered to the Count. "When we're out of sight, take him into custody and drag him down to the Dungeon of Despair."

"Only because you asked so nicely," the Count replied.

Buttercup looked into Westley's deep blue eyes. "I thought you were dead once, and it almost destroyed me. I could not bear it if you died again - not when I can save you." Before either of them could say anything else, the Prince scooped her up onto his horse and galloped away with her.

Westley watched them go, his heart in his eyes. Then he felt the tip of a wand against his back, and immediately realized what was happening. "I know, you're not taking me to my ship. Don't bother lying; it doesn't suit either of us."

Count Rugen smiled. "Well spoken, sir." Then he reached over and clubbed Westley into unconsciousness, but not before Westley noticed that the Count's eyes were red, almost glowing.

* * *

Buttercup sulked for several days after returning to Slytherin Castle. Old King Lucius, it must be remembered, was in poor health, and Prince Humperdinck offered this as the explanation for her melancholy. He wasn't stupid, of course, but the people adored their Princess and he had to make things look good. Meanwhile, plans for the wedding progressed.

Westley, meanwhile, was chained in the Dungeon of Despair, where the count entertained himself by torturing his prisoner. The prince often came to watch, and join in. He seemed to take special delight in harassing Westley about the state of his clothes; they were frayed and patched in places, probably quite old. He also liked to tease Westley about being poor, and unable to support Buttercup in the manner to which she had grown accustomed. Westley, for his part, tended to keep his mouth shut.

Then came the day they tested something on Westley called the Machine. It placed him under a spell that left him in horrible, agonizing pain. Every time it happened, he writhed and screamed and years dripped away from his lifespan.

* * *

"Excuse me, Professor?"

"Yes, Miss Granger?"

"Why has all of this become so abbreviated? I mean, isn't it supposed to last a little longer?"

"We're summarizing," Dumbledore explained. "I think our writer is trying to get to the good parts. Shall I continue?"

"Okay..."

* * *

Buttercup began to have terrible nightmares, in which she received terrible grades in all of her old school classes because the teachers didn't approve of how she had treated Westley. ("How awful," Hermione thought.) One morning, she woke up screaming from the sight of another failing mark and a note from the teacher saying "Your true love lives, and you marry another! You don't deserve to pass this class!" Later, on reflection, she decided this was very strange. At the time, however, it scared her senseless, and she ran down the hall to Prince Humperdinck's chamber.

"It comes to this," she said. "I love Westley. I always have and I know now that I always will. If you say I must still marry you in ten days, I will be dead by morning. I'll stand in front of a mirror and use the Killing Curse."

The Prince looked dumbfounded. "Well, then, here's what we'll do," he said pleasantly. "Let's send owls off in each direction, with messages inviting him to come back and claim you. If he does, so be it. If not, you'll marry me and be Queen."

Buttercup brightened. "You'd do that for me? Really?"

"No." He smiled wryly. "Sorry, my Princess, but I just can't have you dumping me for a commoner. Family honor and all that, you know." He stopped smiling then, and siezed her roughly by the arm. With a look of hell-bent fury, he marched her down the corridor and locked her in a small chamber where he knew there were no wands with which she could hurt herself. He then took off running to the Dungeon of Despair.

* * *

"That's not how it goes," Hermione objected.

"I'm sorry, Miss Granger, but this is what I've been given to work with."


	4. Chapter Four: The Wedding

The Count looked up in surprise as Humperdinck thundered down the steps into the Dungeon. He dashed up to where Westley lay in chains and glared at him.

"You truly love each other," he said, "and so you might have been truly happy. Not one couple in a century has that chance, no matter what the movie scripts say. And so I think no wizard in a century will suffer as greatly as you will." He seized the Machine and set it to full blast. Westley screamed horribly as his life was ripped from his body, then lay in a limp pile of bones.

* * *

Meanwhile, outside of the castle, Inigo and Fezzik heard the screaming. After Fezzik had awoken (his dream had been an unusually pleasant one, involving a large French woman with dark hair), he had wandered down to the local pub and began chatting with strangers about the odd pets he used to have. Eventually Inigo had stumbled in, looking for butterbeer in which to drown his sorrows, and found Fezzik there. They discussed Vizzini's death and the fact that the red-eyed wizard was the Prince's closest confidante. They decided to go in search of the man in black and ask him to help them get inside the castle; they could break up the wedding and kill the Count all at once, to make it convenient.

"That's him...I know that's him screaming," said Inigo. His green eyes flashed with a fire that hadn't been there in years. "That's the sound of ultimate suffering. My heart made that sound when my father was killed; the wizard in black makes it now."

"'Ow d'you know that, eh?" Fezzik wondered.

Inigo looked at him, surprised. "Didn't you read the script?"

"Couldn't," said the giant forlornly. "Me baby dragon sneezed and burned it all up. That's when 'e got sent to Romania."

* * *

"They found the Dungeon without any real trouble," said Dumbledore, sounding amused. "I think our writer got tired."

Hermione giggled. "So who's going to play Miracle Max, I wonder?"

Dumbledore glanced at the next page. "Well, I don't think you're going to like this..."

* * *

With the corpse of the man in black firmly in Fezzik's grasp, they made their way to the villlage, where they pounded on the door of the town's only thing approaching a doctor - the potions master, Competent Severus. They had to bribe him extensively just to get him to let them inside.

"I am not doing anything that will cause injury to Prince Humperdinck," said Severus, coldly. "His father is an old acquaintance of mine."

"But you'd be helping the cause of true love," Inigo said pleadingly.

"Like I care." Severus smirked. "Give me a better reason to help you, and I might consider making the potion you need."

Inigo raised an eyebrow, and whipped out his copy of the script. He scanned it hastily. "That's not what you're supposed to say."

"I don't care. I'm not playing this stupid game."

"At this point," Dumbledore read, "a great thunderbolt crashed down from the heavens and flashed through the window, striking the wood that sat in Severus's hearth. It began to burn in an angry blaze, and the potions master glanced nervously at the sky."

"It's not nice to refuse to bow to the writer's will," Fezzik explained. He had placed Westley's corpse on the table. Severus looked sulky, but began to poke the corpse experimentally.

"You'll need a standard Fantasmagoria," he said crossly. "I can brew one up within the hour. But I want it clearly understood that I'm doing this under protest."

"We don't care how you're doing it, just do it!"

So the cauldron was soon bubbling away with the ingredients to make the potion that would restore Westley to life. They tipped his head back and poured the liquid down his throat. He shuddered and sputtered and looked around wildly.

"Who are you? Where am I? Where's Buttercup?"

"Get out of my house," said Severus.

* * *

Inigo and Fezzik escorted Westley to the top of the castle wall, where they discussed a plan for getting inside. There were more than thirty guards posted at the gate, determined to protect the Prince and Princess as they married.

Buttercup still hadn't found a wand to perform the killing curse on herself. She knew where one was hidden, though, in the bridal chamber she was supposed to share with Humperdinck that night. All she'd need was a moment or two alone in the room. She was still holding out hope that Westley might come and rescue her before the end of the wedding, but a backup plan is always helpful.

Fezzik had once again returned to the village pub to talk with the strangers there, and returned a quarter of an hour later with a large dog. "This is Fluffy," he said happily, as the beast growled and drooled with all of its three massive heads. They unleashed Fluffy and he charged the guards, sending them running in terror. Fezzik then broke down the door, and they rushed inside.


	5. Chapter Five: The Honeymoon?

Humperdinck and Buttercup stood, a trifle bored, before the aged Archbishop of Florin. He was very old, with long white hair and beard, and his pale blue eyes twinkled as he began to recite the ceremony of marriage. Very, very slowly. ("How nice," said Dumbledore good-humoredly. "I get a cameo in the story." Hermione laughed.)

"And do you, Princess Buttercup -" the Archbishop started to say, but Humperdinck interrupted.

"Skip to the end," he said, irritably pushing a lock of silver-blond hair out of his eyes. He pulled out a ring and shoved it roughly onto his bride's finger. "I do, she does, we do, et cetera."

* * *

It was at about this time that Fluffy began attacking the guards at the gate, and the commotion could be heard clearly within the castle. They all looked around wildly, and Humperdinck signaled to the Count to go and stop whatever was causing the disturbance.

Westley, Fezzik, and Inigo had entered the castle and were making their way down a corridor when they met up with the Count and a few soldiers. Inigo stared in amazement at the cruel red eyes - at last, he had found his father's killer!

The Count watched coldly as Inigo drew his wand, then bowed very formally. "Hello," he said softly. "My name is Ingo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to suffer some serious agony before you die."

"Kill him," the Count growled. The soldiers, whose faces were obscured by dark hoods, advanced on Inigo. As Fezzik stepped in front of Westley to protect him, the soldiers drew their wands. Unfortunately for them, the hoods that hid their faces also prevented them from seeing very clearly, and in a matter of seconds, they had accidentally cut each other down with fatal curses.

"Oops," said Inigo, quite cheerfully. He looked at the Count and began to advance. The Count hesitated, then turned and fled down the hall. Inigo dashed after him. Fezzik turned around to speak to Westley, but he was gone.

* * *

The Archbishop sighed. "Man and wife, you're man and wife."

He didn't have much choice in this matter. Humperdinck had grown so tired of how long the wedding was taking, he had his wand pressed to the old clergyman's throat, demanding to hear those words. Once they were uttered, he turned and roughly pushed his new wife into his father's arms. "Escort her to the honeymoon suite," he said irritably. "I'll be there shortly." And off he ran to find out what was keeping the Count.

What was keeping the Count, of course, was the fact that he was being chased through every room in the whole darn castle by Inigo, who kept yelling, "You killed my father! Slow down and prepare to die!"

* * *

Buttercup felt distraught, though she concealed it well. She strolled down the hallway with the ancient King, one hand resting lightly on his arm, thinking of how within minutes she would be dead. Her lustrous brown hair lay in great coils on her shoulders; her wedding dress gleamed in silver folds in the flickering lamplight. Today of all days, she was beautiful...if only Westley could have seen her.

At the door to the honeymoon suite, she bade Humperdinck's parents goodnight and slipped inside. A great canopied bed, hung with satin curtains, sat in the corner. Nearer the door, various personal effects of the Prince lay scattered on a carved table; the wand she intended to use sat hidden in an ornamental case. She opened the lid and drew out the means of her self-destruction; it was, Humperdinck had once told her, the wand which had belonged to his grandfather. She looked at it a moment, then pointed it at her heart and began to speak. "_Av-_ "

"Stop that," interrupted a voice from behind her.

* * *

"That's not how it goes," said Hermione, frowning slightly.

Dumbledore coughed and, to her surprise, looked a little embarrassed. "Miss Granger, the line as it is written is a bit inappropriate for me to read to a student."

"I didn't know you were in the habit of censoring dreams."

"Only the ones that I'm in. Shall we go on?"

* * *

Buttercup whirled. A long, thin body, dressed in black, lay calmly among the pillows on the bed. His red hair looked a little odd against the mahogany wood of the headboard, but she didn't care. She dropped the wand and flew across the room to his waiting arms. "I could kill you!" she cried. "Why didn't you come and stop the wedding? Now I'm the wife of - of that - "

"Slimy git?" Westley suggested. "Calm yourself, love. You're no such thing."

"I'm not?"

"Unless you said the words 'I do'...you didn't, did you?" His blue eyes betrayed his anxiety, and she shook her head. He smiled. "Then you're not married. If you didn't say it, you didn't do it. Don't you agree, Your Highness?"

Buttercup whirled again. Standing in the doorway, a most unpleasant sneer on his face, was her would-be husband. "Pretty clever, Weasley."

"He's not Weasley, he's Westley," said Buttercup defensively.

"Whatever. It doesn't matter anyway. But I am curious to know how you got here, since I myself killed you just yesterday."

"Well, that's an interesting question, Prince Humperdorkinadress," said Westley pleasantly.

The Prince glowered. "I know you didn't just call me what I think you just called me."

"Actually, I did. Those tabards of yours really look like dresses, you know? Haven't you ever heard of pants?"

"You are only still alive because I want an explanation as to...well...why you're alive. Speak!"

"Oh, all right. But I don't really know the answer to it myself, exactly, only that - _petrificus totalus!_"

The Prince's body siezed up and fell to the floor so rapidly, Buttercup hadn't even realized what was happening. "How did you do that?" she asked in amazement.

"I had a wand right here the whole time," he said calmly, getting off the bed. "Fezzik - my friend the giant - lent it to me. The Prince couldn't see it because you were in the way, and while he was distracted by my insults, I was able to aim it just enough to hit him with the full body-bind." Buttercup stared at him admiringly.

Just then, Inigo burst through the door, panting wildly. "Where have you been?" asked Westley.

"Avenging my father," replied his friend triumphantly.

* * *

"Excuse me, Professor," said Hermione, puzzled. "But why didn't we get to hear about Inigo killing the Count?"

"Because nobody knows yet how that happened," Dumbledore explained. "It's still a mystery."

* * *

"Where's Fezzik?" asked Inigo.

"Dunno," said Westley, tucking his wand into his pocket.

"Inigo!" called a voice from outside. They all crossed to the window. Down below, in the palace courtyard, Fezzik held the tethers of four glistening white unicorns.

"'Ello," he said, looking very pleased with himself. "I found the stable, and would ye believe the Prince keeps unicorns?" He glanced at them in wonder. "So I jus' helped mehself to a few of them fer us to escape on. Hop down here and we'll ride off."

"Nice work, Fezzik," said Inigo. Fezzik shrugged.

"I was hoping he kept dragons," he said. "By the way, have you seen Fluffy?"

* * *

"So," Dumbledore read, "they jumped out of the window, and Fezzik caught them all and put them on the unicorns. They rode away toward the horizon, and when they saw dawn breaking they knew they were safe. A great wave of love swept over Westley and Buttercup, and they reached for each other."

Abruptly he stopped reading and closed the book. "What happened?" asked Hermione.

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled as he surveyed her. "I believe, Miss Granger, that the rest of this story is going to be up to you."

* * *

Hermione blinked several times, then rubbed her eyes. The movie was over; Harry was taking the video out of the VCR and putting it back in its case. Ron was chewing the last handful of microwave popcorn, looking thoughtful.

"It was a good story," he said finally. "But I didn't get that whole 'As you wish' thing. What did that mean again?"

"It was like code," Harry reminded him. "When the guy said 'As you wish' to the girl, he was really telling her that he loved her." He glanced over at the sofa. "Awake, Hermione?"

"Yeah," she said, sitting up. "Sorry, I must have dozed off. What a weird dream."

"You missed the whole movie," said Ron.

"That's okay, I can watch it anytime," she said. "What do you guys want to do now?"

Harry's gaze strayed to the window. A light snow was beginning to fall. "Let's go outside," he proposed. "We can build a snow fort or something." The others agreed, and he took the popcorn bowls out to the kitchen.

"Did you like the movie, Ron?" Hermione asked. She pulled her hair back away from her face, and noticed that he was watching her with an odd expression. His ears were pink.

"Oh...yeah. It was good," he said vaguely. "Um...where'd we put our coats?"

"In the front hall closet," she replied. "Could you get mine for me? I'll shut everything off in here." He nodded and moved toward the door. At the threshold he paused, glancing back at her.

"As you wish," he mumbled, and quickly left.

* * *

**A/N:** All done! Wasn't it fun? A clarification: For those of you who have never seen _The Princess Bride_ (get to the video store now and rent it!), the line that Dumbledore didn't want to read was "There's a shortage of perfect breasts in this world; 'twould be a pity to damage yours." I couldn't quite see him reading that to one of his young female students without feeling just a little perturbed! And yes, we missed out on Harry-Inigo killing Count Voldemort because this was written long before book 7 was published. I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!


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